


Back in School

by Libennly



Series: The Thundermen™ Strike Again! [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, References to light racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:55:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libennly/pseuds/Libennly
Summary: "Fitzroy took one look at him and sighed, the tension seeping out of his shoulders. And then burst into tears."The Firbolg and Fitzroy chat.
Relationships: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Master Firbolg
Series: The Thundermen™ Strike Again! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627453
Comments: 24
Kudos: 152





	Back in School

Fitzroy barged into Argo’s and the Firbolg’s shared room, the door slamming against the wall. He paused for a second, before sheepishly closing the door quietly, and then straightened up. His eyes were dark with something best described as outrage and his limbs seemed to be shaking with barely suppressed anger. The Firbolg looked up at him from the floor, his long, log-like legs sprawled out across the small space.

Fitzroy took one look at him and sighed, the tension seeping out of his shoulders. And then burst into tears.

His briefly relaxed shoulders began shaking again, wheezing couches rattling his sturdy frame. Bitter tears raced down his face, each competing to be the first to darken his cotton shirt. He wiped furiously at them, only serving to further redden his cheeks.

The Firbolg didn’t seem to know what to do. Why would he know, thought Fitzroy? Is not as if anything like this has happened to him. And though it seems like an offhand remark, Fitzroy couldn’t remember, or even picture in his mind, the Firbolg ever crying. Perhaps it was the alternatives the largest friend took, like taking a nap or shouting, or maybe it was the pure absurdity of imagining like mountainous figure ever being vulnerable in that way, but the Firbolg seemed to be incapable of tearing up. Which Fitzroy isn’t jealous of. No, not at all.

“What is wrong?” asked the dude himself, his deep voice rumbling in the compact room. Fitzroy sniffed and shook his head.

“Nothing, bud. I.. I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He answered, his voice coming out more hoarse than he preferred.

The Firbolg’s cat-like eyes narrowed. “This is not one of those….puzzles, is it not? When you don’t say what you mean?”

“It’s not, no. I always say what I mean.”

The Firbolg snapped his fingers. It sounded like a firecracker. “No, you lie! You are not ‘fine’,” -when he said that, he brought his dinner plate hands up to do air quotes which really shows where Argo’s influence is coming in- “What is wrong, Fitzroy Apple?”

“That’s not- I’m not- what?” Fitzroy sat down next to the Firbolg, his back against Argo’s bed. The Firbolg put a large hand over his decidedly smaller one and with that came a strange sense of comfort, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“It’s just- you know- they’re idiots! The whole lot of them! I hate them, I do, I really do-” he broke off and dragged his free hand over his face, his eyes smarted as he wiped salty tears into them. “They all think they’re Hugh and mighty, y’know? All of them, with that constant “Oh, you’re a MapleCourt?” with that dumb, condescending tone. Argh! The few people who actually call me by my name and they only do it to insult me!” Somewhere during his spiel, the Firbolg had begun running his fingers through Fitzroy’s crumpled hair. He didn’t mind it so much, he found, and he began to relax into his friends side.

There was a short pause. And then the Firbolg cleared his throat. “I know what you are saying.” He muttered and Fitzroy perked up in sudden interest.

“You do?”

The Firbolg hummed in agreement as he carefully tease a knot out of his hair. “Dunce, they call me. Silly, they say. ‘You are slow and stu-pid!’” he announced to the air, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “They give me tall, pointy hat and I wear it. I think it’s nice gift, but you tell me it is not. They call me ‘Firbolg’ but they look sad while saying it.” He paused. “No, not sad.”

“Disgusted?” Fitzroy offered, hoping he was wrong. 

“Maybe.”

“That’s….that’s…”

“Dis-gus-ting?” The Firbolg offered, sounding out the word carefully. Fitzroy looked up at him and smiled, briefly. 

“Yeah, that.”

And for a while, that was it. They just sat there, together, on the hard, wooden floor. And even when Fitzroy began feeling the belated ache of his backside and when the Firbolg had nearly fine-combed every strand of Fitzroy’s hair, they sat there, silent. 

That was until, of course, Argo burst through the door in the same fashion as Fitzroy had. The pair sitting down jumped as the wooden door slammed against the poor wall yet again. 

“Oh, “ ground out Argo, his hair looking somehow singed on his left. “Oh, you will not believe the day I just had.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I love getting feedback!
> 
> Just realised that I haven't done this on any of my other fics but I have a tumblr! It's @libennly. Come shout at me about taz and stuff 😁.


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